Kamikaze
by Can'tStopImagining
Summary: The most ironic part of all of this, the real kicker, the part that makes her want to bang her head against a wall whilst laughing manically, is that this part is probably one of the least fucked up things she's seen happen over the last 72 hours. Short Season 5 based piece.


"When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own. No matter how inconceivable those needs were; no matter how fucked up; no matter how much it made you feel like you were ripping yourself into pieces." - The Pact

* * *

It sounds like some sort of fucked up punch line, a joke Red might make to Norma, or better yet, her biological mom, on the outside, rolling her eyes as she says it into the phone to some relative, laughing afterward.

Nicky Nichols, being selfless. Can you fucking imagine?

As if her entire life leading up to this point, she'd ever known self-restraint, let alone self sacrifice. What was that old saying? If you love something you have to let it go? It had always sounded like bullshit to her. Now, just maybe, she gets it.

The most ironic part of all of this, the real kicker, the part that makes her want to bang her head against a wall whilst laughing manically, is that this part is probably one of the _least_ fucked up things she's seen happen over the last 72 hours. That her phoning Vince fucking Muccio and telling him to come for his girl, telling him to do all the things that she can't do for Lorna, and doing it without a hint of bitterness, is actually fairly sane in comparison to the other shit going on right now.

She's seen Red go through hell and come out the other side. This is the fucking least she can do.

In rare moments, when she's allowed herself to think about them in some setting other than Litchfield, on the outside, Nicky's pictured them doing the normal things. Going for ice-cream, joint hands swinging between them, Lorna with a cone, a dollop of soft-serve ending up on her nose. They'd laugh, and kiss, and go back to an apartment where it was just the two of them and they could pick out their own dinner, go to bed with the lights out. She'd wear a skirt, or maybe even a dress, a loose one, not like this dress Flaca and Maritza (she is _not_ calling them 'Flaritza') have squeezed her into.

She never lets those thoughts go too far, never allows herself the luxury of believing any of it might actually happen. And yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, she's always thought that it might, a glimmer of hope during the darkest days, letting her sleep when she can't quite shake the want for something to take the edge off.

Only, now, there's a baby. If the husband hadn't been enough of a problem, now there's a baby too, and Nicky knows - can feel it slipping from her fingers inch by inch until it's gone, completely out of reach - that the fantasy is over. That Lorna's going to leave this shithole and return to some kind of semi-normal life. One of the few of them that might actually make it.

And god, she wants that. She wants more than anything else for Lorna to be safe, be happy, be _normal_. She thinks of Lorna pushing a stroller, making a tiny baby hand wave its sticky fingers in Nicky's direction as she walks up the front steps to some dank little apartment she shares with _him._ Nicky retreating into her car, and she can't imagine herself ever feeling anything but pain, her heart being ripped from her chest, but it doesn't matter. Because Lorna would be happy. Safe, happy, loved.

Nicky would take even an inch of that happiness. She'd accept having even a tiny role in Lorna's life, no matter how painful it was, because it would be better than not having her at all.

She knows in reality, there's a really fucking good chance she wouldn't even factor into the scenario. Especially now. Especially now that everything's even more fucked up, like a truck just dumped another load of steaming manure straight on top of the mountain of it that Nicky's built up over the years. At least Lorna won't suffocate in it, she tells herself. At least she's giving Lorna a chance to escape.

She doesn't give the plan any breathing room. They're storming the prison, and Lorna's sitting there in a crumpled heap, knees up under her chin, tears still dribbling down her face. She looks like a little kid, not a mother, and it makes Nicky's heart clench, again, painfully. Not just because of how broken she looks, how small, but because of all the things they've lost, all the things they're going to lose any second now. It isn't drugs that have the biggest hold on her, not anymore, but where she let herself give into their control, where she went crawling back to them, she won't let this do the same thing to her. She knows she's destroying herself from the inside out, but it's the only thing she can do. And it's not the selfish thing. It's destructive, but only to herself, not to everyone around her, not like addiction. (It is, she vaguely realises, an addiction in itself, but its different; Lorna's different. She's one of the only good things that's ever happened to her, and she can't let that burn out).

Lorna reaches for her, begs her to stay, and she knows she shouldn't, but it's five minutes longer, and if she can put this off for another five minutes, set the detonator back for a little while, then she should take the chance. She tells herself it's selfless, that it's what Lorna wants, but when Lorna sinks into her arms, small and shivering, Nicky knows she needs it too. She's a glutton for punishment. That's why they'd fucked again, why she'd allowed it to happen even though she knew the outcome was never going to be any different.

She strokes Lorna's hair, presses kisses to her forehead, rocks her gently in her arms, and it's all the things she would do if they had more time. All the things she dreams of doing outside of these four walls. If she only has five minutes, she'll make sure it's enough to last a life time. It's not like it's the first goodbye. She's been dragged to the SHU, kicking and screaming with Lorna sobbing after her; pushed into the back of a van and taken away, told she'd never return. Each goodbye, she's treated like it might be the last (Lorna, too, whispering 'I love you' over and over and over into her shoulder, and she might not mean it the same way, it might not burn in the pit of her stomach like it does Nicky's, but it's enough).

The selfish thing to do, she thinks, would be to go with her, to put herself through this torture all over again, but be close to her. But that would mean leaving Red. And she knows she can't do that because Red is family, and she owes everything to her. Even before Lorna. She'd go above and beyond for Red, she'd lay her life down for her if it came to it (she'd do the same for Lorna, she knows this, but it's different, a raw feeling that chokes her).

"You've gotta go," she says, trying not to cry, and Lorna looks up at her, wide eyes watery with tears, and she knows if she looks for too long, it'll blind her, so she looks away, plants another kiss on the top of her head.

"I'm so scared, Nick,"

 _Me too,_ Nicky thinks.

And she'd told herself that that was it, that she'd let her go now, but she doesn't, doesn't push away when Lorna leans into her again, tells herself _thirty more seconds,_ counts backwards in her head.

She's at 9 when they're interrupted.

And suddenly they're not the only two people in the world again, and she leaps into action. She can hear them smashing through doors, leaving wails and angry cursing in their wake, edging closer and closer. Nicky goes through cupboards, willing her hands to stop shaking, her eyes to focus on the labels. There's a heavy fog in her head, a voice saying 'just get Lorna to safety' and she can't concentrate on finding what Suzanne needs, not when every bone in her body is fighting to stay clean, to do the right thing, to not break down. At least not until Lorna's safe.

Once Lorna walks away, her hands in the air, there's a brief moment of silence, and the reality of it all washes through Nicky, making her feel like she's going to gag. She moves on autopilot, snapping out of it, the sound flooding back in like turning a television's volume back up.

As she walks away, ushering Taystee and Cindy, and Suzanne, she wills herself not to turn back.

It lasts less than thirty seconds, and she can't stop herself, can't help but glimpse in that direction, tears angrily gathering in her eyes, her feet like lead, and all she can do is pray to a god she knows doesn't fucking exist that it will turn out okay, that she did the right thing.

That, and keep going.


End file.
